


Stained Shirts and Dance Lessons

by Softlight



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Auguste Is Alive And Well, Damen is part of a fraternity, Drunkenness, Laurent can't technically drink but we ignore that, Laurent hates parties, M/M, Panic Attack, Scars, Sexy Dancing, all the cliches, crops tops galore, suggested rape/sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softlight/pseuds/Softlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auguste somehow coerces Laurent into attending his fraternity's house party, and things go wrong from there.</p>
<p>Or, the college AU that absolutely nobody asked for!  Complete and utter fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stained Shirts and Dance Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> After my last two depressing entries for CaPri Week, I decided something happy was in order! This was a lot longer than I thought it would be and I have many regrets.

College parties were at best tolerable, and at worst despicable.  To be at a party with a bunch of drunk fraternities made the top ten worst moments of his life.  But Auguste had insisted he come, if only to meet the man who was co-president of Alpha Sigma Pi with him.

So there he was, lukewarm beer in hand, waiting for his brother to show up and introduce him so he could  _ get the hell out of there _ when he was quite literally slammed into.  A large mass fell on top of him, pushing him straight to the ground.  His beer was soaking his sweater, and the body on top of him would not get up.

“Watch where you’re going,” he spat, struggling to push the guy off of him.  He could feel laughter rumbling through the man’s chest, and Laurent discovered that the strong scent of beer wasn’t just from his own spilled cup.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy said, pulling himself off and offering a hand down to Laurent, which he begrudgingly accepted.  “I must’ve tripped and- oh, I’ve soaked your shirt.”  Laurent glanced at his now-stained sweater, nose crinkling. 

“It appears that way,” he agreed, crossing his arms.  The guy sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, holding out the other for Laurent to shake.  His muscles bulged, and Laurent’s mouth went dry.  He tentatively accepted, surprised by his firm handshake.

“I’m Damen, and I’m typically a lot more graceful than this,” Damen said with an easy smile, straightening up to tower well over Laurent.

He cocked his head, the corners of his mouth just barely tipping upwards.  “I’m Laurent, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head back to my dorm to change.”  Damen’s brow furrowed as he shook his head.

“The party’s just getting started, if you leave now, you’ll miss everything!  Here, you can just borrow a shirt of mine, it’s the least I can do.  I’m going to go change anyways.”  Laurent eyed Damen’s stained pink crop top with the word “PRINCESS” across the chest, biting his lip and directing his eyes back up once he reached the line of hair receding into Damen’s shorts.

“I’m good, thanks.”  Damen rolled his eyes, holding his hand out with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’ll pay for dry cleaning,” he baited with a growing smile.  Laurent huffed, taking his hand with a deepening blush.  

“Just so you know, that is the only reason I’m agreeing to this,” he tried, barely keeping up with Damen as he dragged him through the party and up the stairs.  Damen chucked, sending a strike straight to his heart.   _ He’s not that cute, calm down _ .

“That’s perfectly fine,” he called back, squeezing Laurent’s hand.

Damen dragged him to the last door on the third floor, releasing his hand only to unlock it.  “If I don’t keep it locked, someone will come in here and vomit,” he explained, throwing the door open as he stepped inside.  He hesitantly followed, expecting a large mess only to find a surprisingly put together room.

“Too big, too big, wait, here, try this,” Damen said, swiftly through Laurent a soft blue shirt.  “There’s a bathroom four doors down, or you can just get changed here-”

“I’m gonna get changed in the bathroom,” he interrupted, locking eyes with Damen, who simply shrugged.  

“I’ll be here!” he called as Laurent all but ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. 

He quickly locked the door before bracing himself against the sink and staring into the mirror.  “You are better than a frat boy in a crop top,” he hissed, splashing water onto his face. 

Laurent peeled off the stinking sweater, eager to be rid of it.  He unfolded Damen’s shirt, mouth falling open when he saw what it was.

It was a baby blue crop top that would probably fit him like a typical shirt,  and the front was plain.  The back, however, was a lacy mess of straps and a corset-esque pattern.  Everyone would be able to see his entire back through it, which wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

He bit his lip, weighing his options.  Wear the stupid shirt, and get Damen to pay for dry cleaning, or run back to his dorm, change, be late to meet Auguste (even if his brother was ridiculously late),  _ and _ have to pay for dry cleaning himself.  

He pulled the shirt on with little fuss.  It was big on him, but still fell well above his hips.  If he had been a different person, it would’ve looked nice, like he was the kind of guy who actually went to parties.  Instead, he just looked mildly nauseated and afraid.

Laurent shook his head, gripping his shirt in his hands as he stalked back to Damen’s room.

“Where can I put my-” he began, only to be cut off when he realized Damen was shirtless.

Sure, he had seen a lot shirtless guys.  A lot.  He had seen a lot of attractive, muscled guys like Damen shirtless before, too.  While Damen’s muscles were jaw-dropping and mouth-drying in their own right, what had stopped him dead in his tracks were the scars.

His back was a brutal mess of jagged, torn skin.  It was as though someone had carved into his back with a vicious delight.  It was almost all scar tissue, and must’ve healed well.  But it was brutal. 

Damen turned, a light smile still on his face.  This time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I fell down a cliff a couple years ago.  My brother pushed me too close to the edge, and I slid the entire way down on my back,” he explained quietly.  His mouth gaped, and he forced it shut with a quick nod.

“Must’ve hurt,” he commented, noting the other scars on his abdomen and shoulder as he pulled his new shirt over his head.

“It was the most fun I’ve ever had, ten out of ten, highly recommend,” Damen replied dryly, his lips curving into a slight smirk.  His new shirt was also a crop top (what was this dude’s obsession with them?), but this one was floral patterned.

Laurent nodded, sucking in his lips.  “So do you mind if I leave this here or,” he directed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.  Damen laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, you can just put it on the dresser.”  Laurent carefully folded it, taking his time to scan Damen’s dresser top.  Books, some knickknacks, a gold cuff matching the one already on his wrist, and some photos.  His mouth went dry at the sight of him with a smiling blonde girl, Damen planting a kiss onto her cheek.  “This your girlfriend?” he asked lightly, back towards Damen.

“Not anymore,” Damen sighed, flopping back onto his bed.  Laurent kept his eyes on his shirt.

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Because she was fucking me and my brother at the same time, decided to leave me, who was her boyfriend, for him, and they are now blissfully engaged after a year of hooking up and three months of official dating with a wedding to come next spring,” he said bitterly.  Laurent turned around, disgust contorting his features.

“That’s fucked up,” he said with a glare.  “That’s really fucked up.”  Damen let out a low laugh.

“You’re telling me.  Do me a favor, bring the vodka over here,” he instructed, sitting up.  Laurent did as told, handing the vodka off.  Damen poured two glasses, handing one to Laurent.

“Oh, uh, my birthday’s not for another month,” he excused, flush flooding his cheeks once more.  Damen stared at him quizzically.

“You were literally drinking beer downstairs.”

“Yes, well, there’s a large difference between drinking watery beer and vodka,” he retorted, still accepting the glass.  “My brother would kill me if he knew I was drinking vodka with a strange man.”  Damen quirked a smile.

“So I’m just a strange man, not a glorious rescuer who saved you in your time of need?”

“You actually ruined my favorite shirt, so.”  But they were both smiling, and toasted their glasses together.

“To ruining favorite shirts.”

“To shitty exs and soon to be shitty sister in laws.”

_ Clink _ .

The vodka burned all the way down, and left him in a hacking fit.  “You really weren’t kidding; is this really your first time drinking vodka?”

“What do you think?” he spat, quickly pouring himself another shot.  Damen merely smiled, his golden eyes flashing.  

“You know, it’s not a race,” he commented, holding out his glass for Laurent to pour.  Laurent rolled his eyes, raising his glass to his lips.

“Everything is race of sorts if you have the right mindset,” he quipped, ignoring the need to cough.  Damen shook his head with a chuckle.  “What?”

“I’d love to see inside your mind,” he stated simply, cocking his head to the left.  Laurent rolled his eyes, praying his blush would be disregarded as an after effect from drinking.

Laurent went to pour himself another shot, only for Damen to take the bottle.

“If this is your first time drinking vodka, I think you should stick with what you have,” he chided gently, screwing the top back on.  

“Well, if you know best,” Laurnet ceded with a smile.  He was already feeling a slight buzz, and the idea of being drunk, of being out of control, around Damen wasn’t exactly a pleasant one.  

“You know what vodka always makes me want to do?” Damen asked, gently swaying back and forth on his hands.

“What?”

“Dance.”  Damen popped up, extending a hand towards Laurent with an elaborate flourish.  “May I have this dance?” he asked, unable to hide his smile.  Laurent shook his head, barely containing a laugh.

“I don’t dance,” he explained, gently pushing Damen’s hand away.

“Don’t or can’t?”  Laurent glared at him, crossing his arms.

“Does it matter?”  Damen cocked his head, pulling Laurent up.

“Well, if you don’t dance, it’s merely the matter of convincing you to relax a little.  If you can’t dance, then I have to teach you,” he explained, a mischievous light in his eyes.  

Laurent raised his chin, staring dead into Damen’s eyes.  “I can dance formally, if that’s what you’re asking.  But if you’re asking me to do anything else, than no, I cannot dance.”

“Well, luckily for you, I can.  Quite well, or so I’m told,” Damen said with a wink, plugging his phone into some speakers.  Laurent rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“You’ve done enough for me already, a dance lesson was not included in our bargain,” he argued, biting his lip.

Damen laughed, shutting the door tight.  “Yes, but I want to teach you.  Consider it a gift, free of charge.”  Laurent rubbed his arms, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fine,” he ceded, ignoring the flutter in his heart at Damen’s smile.  “But I better become an amazing dancer after this.”

“Oh, you will.”  Damen clicked play, and suddenly Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” was blasting from the speakers.  Laurent began backing up, hands in front of him.

“I am not dancing to this!” he hissed, prompting a chuckle from Damen.

“But we are,” Damen insisted.  He put his left hand up, moving his hips and shoulders in unison.  His hips gyrated and shook, and his hands flowed up and down his body, making Laurent heavily aware of Damen’s body.  His muscles bulged in a very attractive way, and Laurent suddenly became very grateful for Damen’s attraction to crop tops.

“Up in the club, we just broke up, I'm doing my own little thing,” he sang out, eyes beckoning for Laurent to join him.  “I’m just gonna keep doing this and keep it on loop until you dance with me,” he threatened with a smile.  Laurent rolled his eyes, slowly moving to the beat.

He began grinding his hips into the thin air, swinging them to the best of his ability every so often.  His hands rose to bury themselves in his hair, the hemline of his shirt raising high.

“You’re getting it, but have fun with it!  You look like you’re about to kill me,” he teased, drawing a little closer.  Laurent swallowed thickly, nodding.

“That’s because I am,” he half-shouted, vying to be heard over the loud music.  Damen laughed, holding out his hands for Laurent to grab onto.

“Will you dance with me,  _ Laurent _ ?” he asked, voice deep and eyes dark.  Laurent nodded shyly, taking Damen’s hands as he pulled him into a dance.  Damen shook his shoulders with a mischievous smile, Laurent awkwardly copying his motions.

Damen released one arm, gesturing for Laurent to spin.  He spun, and spun, and spun until the world went dizzy and the stitch in his side grew from laughing so much.  Damen laughed right along with him, hands tentatively adjusting him as they danced. 

His hands were on his shoulders, his waist, everywhere at once, constantly traveling around to touch Laurent.  Laurent in turn kept his hands in motion, sometimes layered deep into his own hair or at Damen’s hips.  It was harder than he liked to admit to reach his neck.  

“If you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it,” Damen sang, keeping steady eye contact with Laurent.  Damen’s lips were full and soft-looking, and they moved in ways that had to be illegal somewhere.

“Don’t be mad once you see that he want it,” he added with a mild grimace, feeling his entire face turn red to the tips of his ears.  Damen’s face broke out into a giant smile, and suddenly singing was worth it.

“If you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it,” they sang out together, unable to keep the laughter from their voices.  Laurent squirmed, nose crinkling.

“What’s wrong?” Damen asked, slowing but not stopping their dance.

“I just hate the sound of me singing, that’s all,” he admitted, biting the inside of his cheek.  Damen spun him out, only to swing him back into his hairs.  He could feel Damen’s breath on the back of his neck, his own back tight against Damen’s body.

“You have a lovely voice,” he crooned softly, and Laurent froze.  “Laurent?”

_ Too much too much too much _ -

Damen let go, carefully avoiding touching him as he walked around to face him.  “Laurent, are you okay?” he asked, breath ragged and eyes serious.  There was panic throbbing in his throat, thrumming under his skin, and through his veins.  His skin ached and burned from where Damen’s hand had laid, and the vodka was burning through his system.

“Come on, let’s get you sitting down,” he said softly, herding him without touch to the bed.  Bed.  Bed.  Bed.   _ No _ . 

Laurent ducked under Damen’s hand, rocketing backwards, his back hitting the wall as his head slammed back.  “ _ No _ .”

Damen turned to him, confusion clear across his face.  He looked at Laurent, at his bed, then back at Laurent.  All the blood drained from his face as his features contorted into terror.  “Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God, Laurent,  _ no _ , that wasn’t what I meant  _ at all _ .”  His gold eyes were remorseful, and his gaze made him feel dirty.

“I know,” he said quickly, barely forcing the words out.  “I just have a bad reaction to being touched sometimes.  It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”  Damen nodded silently, eyes following him.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the door.  “Well, this has been lovely, but I’m gonna go.”  He quickly ran for the door, throwing it open and literally running down the hall.

“Laurent!” Damen shouted after him, but he ignored him.  He ran down the stairs, blood pumping in his ears as the party drew closer.  He practically dove into the crowd, swiftly moving for the front door.   _ Where the fuck is Auguste _ ?

He could hear Damen yelling after him, but it didn’t stop him from tearing the front door open and running out into the night.  He threw a glance behind him, watching Damen tear through the lawn as though it were paper.  Laurent just had to get to his dorm, and then everything would be okay.

There’d be no cute guys in crop tops to freak out on, no way to get embarrassed, just sweet privacy and his books.  God, he should’ve told Auguste no when he asked if he had wanted to come to the party, but his brother had been so hopeful and it was so hard-

His foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk, and he went sprawling into the grass.  “Laurent!” Damen called, running over. 

He tried to get up, but his ankle felt wocky.  It wasn’t blinding pain, but it was an inconvenience, and there was no way he’d be able to limp across campus.  “Yes?” he replied with a slight slur in his words, eyes closed.

“Are you okay?”

“It seems I’ve twisted my ankle.”

Damen knelt down, barely winded.  Laurent sat up, refusing to look Damen in the eyes.  “I meant from before, but yeah, it looks like you have.”

“Oh.  Well, besides my ankle I’m fine.  I’m sorry for freaking out on you,” he said plainly, detaching himself from the situation.  Damen rubbed his face, worry creasing his forehead.

“I should’ve asked if you were okay with everything, I just got ahead of myself.  Not every day a cute guy falls into your life, and you were obviously uncomfortable and I’m sorry.”  Damen buried his face in his hands.  “And now I’ve just made this very awkward and you’re obviously uncomfortable by my being here.”

“No, no, I was fine, I just get… panicky.  Sometimes.  When people touch me like that.  And then I kind of freak out.  It’s not your fault, I should’ve established that.  And I’m not  _ uncomfortable _ ,” he finished lamely, praying for someone to strike him down.  

“Is it okay if I look at your ankle?  Just to see how badly it’s injured,” Damen asked, brows knitting together.  Laurent pursued his lips, nodding.  Damen peeled back his pants’ leg, gently examining it.  “It’s not broken, you might’ve just strained it.  I have an ankle brace back in my room, it’s brand new, I can go run now and grab it.”

“Alright then, if you would be so kind to help me up, and then we’ll go,” Laurent nodded, moving to get up.  

“I wouldn’t want you on your ankle until that brace is on it, just in case you fall again or injure it further,” Damen countered.  Laurent raised his brows.

“Well, I need to get my sweater, and I’d prefer not to stay out here alone for however long it takes you to run and get it, so I’m coming with you,” he said plainly.  Damen pursued his lips, looking back to the frat house.

“Would you mind it if I carried you then?  Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk back.”  Laurent’s heart stopped, and he looked into Damen’s eyes.  He was fiercely protective of him already, he realized.  And that’s when he realized just exactly how screwed he was.

“Fine.”  Damen’s eyes widened before a shaky smile crossed his face.  “But be careful, because if you drop me, I’ll make your life hell.”

“Understood,” he responded, gently scooping Laurent up in his arms bridal-style.  Laurent raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”  Damen shrugged, standing up.

“You’re small enough.”

“I am  _ not _ small!”

“You’re smaller than I am.”

“You’re simply too large, while I am perfectly average.”

“The short side of average, but okay, Laurent, whatever you say.”

He could hear Damen’s heartbeat through his shirt, and it was a comforting, steady beat as Damen carried him.

“Damen?” he muttured softly, curling his head into his shoulder, “I’m not feeling so good.”  

“What’s wrong, Laurent?” 

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”  Damen simply nodded, ducking under the doorframe as he walked them up the stairs.

“You drank too much.  Once we’re upstairs with the ankle brace, we’ll get you all situated.  That is, if you’re comfortable with that.”  Laurent looked into Damen’s face.  It was open and honest and earnest.  He didn’t want to hurt him. 

“That sounds very nice,” he admitted, letting himself be placed on a chair in Damen’s room.

Damen eased off his shoe and sock before burrowing into his drawers for the brace.  “Let’s try this,” he mumbled, sliding it up Laurent’s ankle.  “How does that feel?”

“A little confining, but fine.”  Damen nodded, grinning.

“That’s how it’s supposed to feel.  Do you still feel like you’re gonna throw up?”  Laurent shook his head.

“I feel better now,” he said, allowing Damen to help him stand on his feet with a hiss.  “Can we dance again?”  The vodka was hitting in full, it seemed, but Laurent didn’t particularly care.

Damen let out a low chuckle, gently holding his hands.  “Just for a little bit, after that, I’ll drop you off at your dorm.”  Laurent shook his head, smiling.

“I don’t think I can walk back, and if you think that you’re carrying me again, you can forget it!” he said, poking Damen in the chest.  Damen smiled slightly, concern in his eyes.

“If you want, you can stay in my bed.  I’ll sleep on the floor,” he added hastily, leaving Laurent to close the door and put the music back on.  Laurent nodded, dizziness overtaking him.

“Sounds good,” he slurred, rocking gently from side to side, despite the dull pain in his ankle.  Piano started dancing out from the speakers, Damen holding Laurent’s hands as they swayed slowly.

“This is one of my favorite songs,” Damen whispered, his hands not daring to travel any further than Laurent’s own.

“What song is it?  I don’t recognize,” he asked softly, placing Damen’s hands at his waist.  “I’m okay.  Really.”  Damen nodded, holding onto Laurent’s hips lightly.

“Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute.  I’m just a big cheeseball,” he whispered back as Laurent draped his hands around his neck.  The effort it took suddenly was worth it.

“I like it.  It’s pretty,” he smiled, head leaning into Damen’s chest.  “You’re pretty.”  Damen snorted above him, the noise vibrating throughout his chest.

“I’m pretty,” he repeated with a smile.  

“The prettiest,” Laurent confirmed, gently curling Damen’s hair around his fingers.

Damen stared into his eyes, the two of them simply swaying in a circle as the song played.  “I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispered quietly, head perched on top of Laurent’s.  

“Why don’t you?”

“Because you’re drunk, and that’s not right,” Damen replied, gently stroking Laurent’s hair.  

“This feels right,” he admitted, hiding his blush by shoving his face into Damen’s chest.  

The song ended, leaving the room in near silence.  “I think the party is over,” Damen whispered, not pulling apart form Laurent.  He nodded, eyes closed.  “Come on, let’s get your shoes off and you can sleep here tonight.”  Laurent let Damen take care of him, allowing for the man to take off his remaining shoe and accepting the glass of water he gave.

“Nighty-night,” he whispered, head falling back onto his pillow.  It smelled like Damen.

“Goodnight, Laurent.”

He whispered, more to himself than Damen, “I wanted to kiss you too.”

* * *

 

There was a pounding in his head.  Laurent blearily opened his eyes, silently taking in the scene before him.

He was in a stranger’s… no, Damen’s room.  Because he had gotten drunk, and then injured, and then they had just fallen asleep.  The panic in his gut slowly ebbed away to a mild level.  The blankets practically covering his entire head helped with that.

Damen was standing near the far windows, talking with someone.  His head pounded from the hangover, and he couldn’t hear who Damen was talking to, forget see them.  He sat up slowly, closing his eyes to ease the pain.

“Damen?” he asked softly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Damianos, why is my  _ little brother _ in your  _ bed _ ?”  Laurent’s eyes shot up, and rested upon Auguste, who looked ready to kill.

“Hello, brother,” he said calmly, slowly waving.  “Why are you in Damen’s room?”

Auguste glared at Damen, whose face was pale.  “ _ Our _ shared room.  The presidents reside in here.  And someone better start explaining why you’re wearing Damen’s clothes, didn’t show up yesterday, and fell asleep in my best friend’s bed!”

Laurent smiled blandly, rubbing at his face.  “I waited by the front door for almost an hour yesterday.   _ You _ didn’t show, and Damen had bumped into me, ruining my shirt, so he offered me this one.  We drank vodka, which really tastes shitty, but we toasted, and then we danced, but I freaked out and literally ran out on him.  He ran after me, and then I hurt my ankle by falling down, and then he carried me back here to take care of me.  We danced some more, and then we fell asleep.  I think that about covers it, wouldn’t you say, Damen?”

Auguste raised a frosty eyebrow at Damen.  “He calls you  _ Damen _ .”  Damen kept looking back and forth between him and Laurent, brows furrowing as he attempted to see the connection.  

“Yes, because that’s how he introduced himself,” Laurent answered patiently, rubbing his ankle.

“I was talking to Damen!” Auguste snapped.

“He’s your little brother.”  Damen’s eyes were as large as saucers.  Auguste nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“I flirted with your little brother.”

“Probably.”

“I gave your little brother vodka.”

“Looks that way.”

“I  _ grinded  _ on him.”

“That’s a bit too much information, not really helping you, but okay.”

“I caused him to run out of here like the place was on fire.”

“Sounds like my brother.”

“I carried him back here and danced with him.   _ For the second time _ .”

“That’s just what Laurent said, yes.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Auguste nodded once, pursuing his lips as he turned his attention to Laurent.  “So you got drunk on vodka at a frat house party with a stranger and slept in his bed after presumably flirting the night away.”  A giant smile broke out on to Auguste’s face.  “I am so proud of you!”

“We did not  _ flirt the night away _ ,” Laurent hissed, crossing his arms.  But his face softened hesitantly, eyeing his brother carefully.  “So you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I am livid!” he replied cheerfully, slapping Damen on the back.  “But this is the first time you’ve willingly did something outside your dorm room, so I’ll let it slide.  Kind of.  I mean, I’m gonna kill you for blowing me off and having vodka, and I’ll never let you live this down, but yeah.”  Laurent nodded, a glare setting in.

“I didn’t blow you off, you didn’t show!” he accused, putting a hand to his temple.  Auguste shrugged sheepishly.

“I got a bit, ah, preoccupied,” he admitted with a wink.

Damen chuckled, slapping Auguste on the shoulder.  “Preoccupied with Heather the hot TA, I bet.”

“And  _ you _ ,” Auguste turned, his big smile unfaltering, “if you hurt my little brother, I will kill you.”  Damen swallowed thickly, nodding.

“Got it.”  Laurent rolled his eyes.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that we’ve known each other for less than twenty four hours?” he said dryly, raising a brow.  

Auguste shrugged.  “I like to be prepared.  Plus, Damianos should know what he’s getting into with you.”

“Who said we’re getting into anything?” Laurent shrieked, glaring at Damen, who was shaking his head rapidly.

“That is all him, you know Auguste, always jumping to conclusions,” he sputtered out nervously.  Laurent gave his brother a look.

“Is he always like this?”

Auguste nodded grimly.  “‘Fraid so.”

Laurent grinned wickedly.  “Good.”

Auguste grinned back, grabbing his bag.  “Well, I have to get to work.  I’ll leave the two of you to  _ talk _ ,” he said with a wink, shutting the door behind him.  Laurent turned to Damen, cheeks flaming.

“So,” he began nervously, picking at his nails.

He could feel Damen watching him, his golden eyes light in the morning rays.  “Would you want to go on a date with me?”  Laurent’s head snapped up, mouth slightly open.  “An actual date, like dinner and a movie, or something like that.  I’m pretty flexible.”

“My brother just  _ threatened _ you, and you still want to ask me on a date?” he asked dubiously.  Damen nodded, biting his lip.  Laurent sighed, slowly standing up despite the pain in his ankle.  “Well, I suppose if you’re willing to suffer Auguste’s wrath, I should go on at least one date with you.  Maybe five dates, who knows.”  Despite the mocking tone in his voice, he was smiling.

“I’ll settle for one for now, but I will most certainly hold you to that.”  Damen’s face flooded with relief and pure ecstasy, and Laurent suddenly felt hopeful.

“Good, because I’m holding you to that kiss.”  Damen smiled, drawing closer.

“Would you want me to kiss you now?”  Laurent shook his head, pressing his finger against Damen’s lips.  They were, as he had thought, extremely soft.

“Save it for the date,  _ sweetheart _ ,” he muttered, staring deep into Damen’s eyes.  Damen nodded, gently brushing Laurent’s hair behind his ear.

“Alright.  How does dinner at Rocco’s Pizzaria on Friday sound, then?”  Laurent smiled.

“It sounds perfect.  Here, I’ll write my number down, and you can text me what works.”  He scrawled his number down on a post on Damen’s dresser, eyeing the gold cuff matching Damen’s wrist.

“Sounds great.  I’ll get your sweater dry cleaned before then, I promise,” he replied with a laugh.  “And you can have it, you know.  I only meant to buy one, but, well, the guy gave me a second one for free.”  Laurent’s mouth went dry, looking between the bracelet and Damen.

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, fingers running around the edge of the cuff.  Damen nodded, gold eyes alight.

“I’m positive.  My friend Erasmus runs the store, and he sold them to me with the idea of matching with my partner.  I want you to have it.  Please, take it.”  Laurent slid the cuff on mutely, admiring the craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful.  Thank you.”  He gave Damen a smile.  “And I’ll give you back your shirt once I wash it.”

“You don’t have to do that-”

“No, I don’t.”  Laurent quirked an eyebrow.  “Call it phase one of paying you back for this.”  Damen shook his head, but his eyes gleamed.

“Alright, alright,” he ceded.  “Now, I have to go clean up the party, but let me walk you out.”  Laurent nodded, taking Damen’s outstretched hand.

“That sounds lovely,” he agreed, swinging their hands back and forth.  

Maybe college parties weren’t so bad after all.


End file.
